


Feast

by cowboykylux



Category: Saturday Night Live, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Dates, First Time, Saturday Night Live References, Snl character, medieval times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: “Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He finds himself saying, making you stop in your tracks.“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, hope written all across your face, “Your girl, I mean.”“If you want to be.” He whispers, afraid, so afraid this might all be some cruel trick of the universe, so afraid you might just be a vision of loveliness that exists only inside his head.
Relationships: Cameron Bissel/Reader, Cameron Bissel/You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79





	Feast

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part 2 to my oneshot called My Lady! I hope you enjoy x

He had done what you said, with eager anticipation. The next evening, the evening after your tryst in the supply closet, he had found himself waiting outside the damned restaurant in the rain, the pouring rain. He wondered if you would recognize him, standing there without his costume, without his wig, without the props he had built at home and brought in only to go overboard and get fired.

Because of course he had been fired, after that shit show. Of course.

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like he had this job for the money or anything like that – quite the opposite.

But either way, he wasn’t allowed on the premises anymore, not after the stunt he pulled, so he waits outside in the rain. He’s dressed nicely – which he now fucking regrets, with the way the sky opens up and beats down on the umbrella he’s holding – hoping to impress you.

“(Y/N)!” He calls, his voice for you loud and booming, echoing across the little courtyard where he has to stand. He wishes he could hold the door for you like a proper gentleman, like a right and courageous Knight, but he really doesn’t want security to tackle him again.

You’re out of costume when you emerge through the front doors, and his mouth runs dry. You’re so beautiful, even more so than he thought before, if that was possible. Maybe it was because you were on your way to him, were smiling and waving at him from the steps of the establishment, were going down the steps two at a time to get closer to him. Maybe that was why.

He’s blinded by the sight of you when you huddle close underneath his umbrella, shielding yourself against his body from the rain.

“Cameron you came!” You grin up at him, eyes bright from excitement, and he finds his heart is beating far too fast.

He gives you a confused smile as you loop your arms around his shoulder and hug him, his hand that’s not holding the umbrella splaying out over your back, pressing you in close. You smell amazing, like some kind of perfume or fancy shampoo that Cameron can’t place, but it makes his mouth water.

“Of course I did, you told me to.” He says, like it was the simplest thing, following your instructions, your orders.

He’d do anything for you, anything you told him to. But maybe now wasn’t the best time to say that, he didn’t want you thinking he was some creep, some obsessive stalker or anything. He wasn’t, he just. Well. He’d just admired you for a long time, and didn’t want to blow this chance to get to know you better, especially when you seemed so receptive to wanting to get to know him.

“I wasn’t sure if you actually had any interest.” You duck your head in mild embarrassment, in a shyness that has his eyes widening.

“I meant what I said last night, (Y/N).” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilts your face up to his. You’re so close, just within kissing distance, but he won’t do anything that you don’t want, don’t expressly tell him to do. So, instead of kissing you over and over and over again like he so desperately wants, he drops his hand and tangles the fingers with yours asking, “How about that date, if I recall, you demanded a dinner?”

You bite at your lip, give him a look with those doe eyes of yours, through those lashes of yours that have his knees weak, as you adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“I have a better idea,” You start, smiling as he takes your bag from you – a lady never should carry her own things, after all – and hoists it over his own shoulder instead, completely nonplussed by the fact that it’s a purse, as you continue, “With the weather as shit as it is, why don’t we just go to your place?”

He isn’t expecting that, for some reason. He hadn’t expected any of this, not really. Had he gotten hit on the head very hard? Had he somehow slipped and fallen and concussed himself into a daydream where you were on his arm and asking to be brought to his house?

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He finds himself saying, making you stop in your tracks.

“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, hope written all across your face, “Your girl, I mean.”

Time seems to stand still, then, as he walks you to his car. Like the whole world has formed and evolved and spun round and round the sun to build up right to this moment. Maybe he’s being dramatic, maybe he’s being too much, but he thanks the moon and the stars and the heavens above for whatever it was that led you to him, or him to you.

“If you want to be.” He whispers, afraid, so afraid this might all be some cruel trick of the universe, so afraid you might just be a vision of loveliness that exists only inside his head.

But then you’re blushing so pretty and squeezing his hand affectionately and reaching for the handle to the passenger side of his car, and then you’re laughing when he swats your hand away to open it for you, and then you’re beckoning him down as if to ask a question – only to place a chaste kiss to his lips instead.

“To your place then.” You whisper back, and Cameron feels his whole heart fly over the moon.

The drive is spent with smiles, with hand-holding and kisses at red lights. It’s spent talking and singing loudly to the music on the radio, singing off-key, singing wrong lyrics to try and make the other laugh. It’s spent with secret glances that the other catches, both of you feeling giddy, like you’re high on life.

He rushes you to the front door so you don’t get drenched, when he parks in front of the apartment complex.

He kisses you in the elevator on the way to the sixth floor where his key always gets jammed in the lock.

He holds you up against the wall when he shuts the world away behind you.

His hands on your face leave for only a moment, only long enough to flick on the light-switch and illuminate the space of his living room, so that he knows where he’s throwing the wet clothes of your jacket, where he kicks off his shoes.

But you open your eyes when the lights turn on, and he worries he’s done something wrong when you gasp out, “Cameron holy shit.”

“What?” He pulls away, makes sure he didn’t accidentally step on your toes or anything like that, but you’re looking past him into the living room beyond in shock.

“This is a much nicer apartment than I thought you’d have.” You admit bluntly, making Cameron huff out a laugh.

“Hey!” He teases playfully, and you laugh too because no, that’s not how you meant it, you just meant,

“How can you afford something like this on the Medieval Times salary?” You ask, and he shrugs, scrubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t,” He says honestly, “I afford it with my production design salary.”

The news comes as even more of a shock to you, and you blink as you process everything.

The apartment is so contemporary, so modern. Upscale, with its light wood flooring and muted grey furniture. There’s a stone façade fireplace, and nervously, Cameron goes and turns it on, clicks the little timer so that if he gets lucky enough that you decide to stay, he won’t have to leave your side to shut it off. The ceiling is an interesting exposed wood structure, you’re chewing the inside of your lip with something like nervousness.

“You mean to tell me you were just dicking around at work?” You ask, and he feels like he’s been caught, feels like he’s being scolded, even though he isn’t, not really. You’re just trying to understand.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be fun to flex my acting muscles, since I’m taking that method acting class.” He explains, holding a hand out to you, wanting to take you to the bedroom.

You accept it easily, and he leads you through the apartment. It’s not very big, although it feels that way with the windows all over the place.

You’re laughing to yourself when you get to the bedroom. Not because it’s funny, exactly, but because it’s so completely outside the scope of what you thought it would be. The walls are soft browns and warm shades of grey, that invite you in and make you want to wrap yourself up in the blankets that look freshly washed. It’s so big, so spacious, so luxurious. There’s even a tray of champagne and two glasses resting on the plush bench at the end of the bed.

“You really meant it when you said the biggest, softest bed, huh?” You ask, because you have nothing more you can really even say, speechless in the best way.

“Damn straight I did.” Cameron says, nervous, fuck he’s so nervous, he hopes he didn’t ruin this somehow, hopes he didn’t scare you off with this somehow, “Do you still want to – ”

You cut him off with a hot kiss, your mouth searing on his.

It’s all the permission he needs to walk you to the bed, to strip away your clothes as you go. He’s kissing kissing kissing you, and before the both of you know it, the wet clothes are in a heap on the floor, and he’s gently guiding you up the bed, your whole body on display for him.

“Fuck, Cameron.” You groan, covering your face, “Oh this isn’t fair.”

“What? Are you okay – ?” He asks, terrified for a moment, terrified until you’re reaching for him, demanding him to cover your body with his own.

“You’re so fucking handsome – dammit,” You bemoan, like you’re angry about it. It fills him with pride, so much pride, when you ask him to, “Come here.”

“You really think so?” He asks, desperate for you, for praise, as he rolls on a condom and lines himself up.

He knows you need more foreplay, he knows. But you’re so wet already, he can feel it when he dips his hands between your legs to test the waters, when he guides his hard cock to your pussy as you beg for him.

“Yes, I do, please, please fuck me – oh!” Your mouth drops open so beautifully for him when he nudges the head of his cock in, when he lifts and shifts your hips, shoves a pillow underneath it to keep your body at an angle that he knows will make you feel good as he sinks his cock into you. You’re moaning, hands already grabbing at his shoulders with breathy pants, “Yes, Cameron,”

“I like when you say my name.” He licks his lips, presses his face into your neck as he grinds his hips against yours, presses his dick deep into you and has to breathe evenly, has to bite down hard on your collarbone as he grunts and groans, “Say my name?”

“Cam!” You whine loud as he pulls out and thrusts back in, thrusting into your hot cunt for the first time, the very first time. Fuck, how long had you both thought of this? How long had you craved this? How many nights spent alone in your bed with your hands down your underwear, dreaming of this?

“Cam – er – on – oh shit.” He drags out each syllable of his name on his cock as he punches it out of you, and he feels like he’s going crazy, feels like he’s dying, because it’s so good, you’re so tight and perfect, you take him so well, you’re made for him.

“Tell me, tell me what you like.” He begs, wanting to make this good for you, wanting to satisfy you. He’s big, he knows he’s big, but he wants to show you that the pain of his stretch is worth it. Your pussy is so good that he has to keep his eyes shut, he doesn’t have the strength to open them as he thrusts into you, “Fuck, (Y/N), fuck!”

“Harder, you can go harder, I promise.” Your throat clicks with how wet it is, how you’re literally drooling for him, and that goes straight to his cock.

“Yeah?” He asks, shifting up onto his arms better, wanting to get a better grip, better leverage to pound into you.

And he does, and the smack of his skin against yours, the slap of it, echoes through the bedroom, bounces off the walls and makes him dizzy.

“Yeahyeahyeah, oh my god!” Your eyes fly open and he has no idea what’s just happened, not really, but he hits you in the same spot as he just did and you’re keening for him, absolutely fucking keening.

Your body is luminous under the dim lights of his bedroom, skin slick with sweat, your hair fanned out on his pillow like some wet dream – how was this not a dream? You clench around his cock and his arms almost give out, but he tries his best to ram that spot in you again and again, and soon your knees are coming up to dig into his sides as you babble.

“Oh fuck oh please, yes, yes Cameron!” You’re coming, just like that, right on his cock. You’re coming on his cock and he’s going to blackout, he’s sure of it, he’s going to pass out because nothing has ever felt so good as your cunt tight tight tight around him like this.

“I’m going to, can I?” He chokes out, but you’re still riding through the shocks of your own orgasm.

“Huh?” You ask, and he licks the sweat off his mustache, wants to lick all your come up right out of your pussy, he can feel it, he knows it’s there.

“Can I come?” He asks, begs, pleads, as his hips speed up and he starts to lose the rhythm of it, as he starts to unravel, that heat spreading through from his stomach, lighting all his veins on fire, “Please, please can I come?”

“Oh! Yes, yes Cameron, come.” You nod, encouraging him to pull out, encouraging him to snap the condom off and jerk himself all the way to his own orgasm when you smack your chest and demand, “Come on me, you can come on me.”

He kneels over you, and he doesn’t miss the way you ogle him, doesn’t miss the way you’re staring, as he jerks off paints your breasts with his come in a way that feels so primal, feels so raw, so real.

“Damn your tits look good like this.” He grunts, milking himself for the last bits of all he’s worth, wanting to impress you even with this, even with the size of his load.

“Rub it in.” You’re dizzy, you’re floating, but still you’re demanding, and with shaky hands he cups your tits and smears his thumbs through the sticky pearly fluid, rubs it into your skin just the way you’ve asked.

You hum, pleased, your hands reaching for him, bringing him down for a kiss. He pants against you, tries to catch his breath, tries to get his heartbeat under control because he’s afraid he’ll have a heart attack from how good that felt.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” He asks, when he can finally feel himself starting to settle down.

“Yeah?” You ask right back, shifting more comfortably in his bed big.

He thinks, that he could imagine you here forever, laying there, in his bed with him. He thinks he could imagine you falling asleep and waking up every morning, laughing and smiling and coming with him. He thinks he could, he knows he could. He’s been imagining it for so long, it’s thrilling in the best of ways to have you here, to have you actually reaching for him and holding him, not caring one bit about the mess you’re covered in.

Maybe one day he’ll ask you, when things aren’t so new. Maybe one day you’ll ask him, when you’re ready, when you think it’d be a good thing to do. But for now, he’s got a date to finish, and when you crack an eye open to look at him, he who still hasn’t said what it is he called your attention for, you’re smiling.

“What do you say to ordering dinner delivered?” He suggests, at the same time that your stomach growls loud loud loud, the two of you doubling over into chuckles, dissolving in a fit of laughter.

You hide your face in your hands in embarrassment, the relationship – which thrilled him to think about – still so new for all these silly things to still feel embarrassing, but you’re smiling, and when you peek through the gaps between your fingers, Cameron knows he’s really died and gone to heaven because you kiss him with an,

“I say, bring on the feast.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to come, and come ;)  
> Coming soon!


End file.
